Destination
by Anonymous033
Summary: "I think you will charm her pants off, like you do with every woman. But I also think that you will be the person I know you to be. Sincere. Warm. Lovable." Ziva brings Tony on a trip to visit Aunt Nettie. Sequel to "Along the Way."
1. The Journey

**Summary: "I think you will charm her pants off, like you do with every woman. But I also think that you will be the person I know you to be. Sincere. Warm. Lovable." Sequel to _Along the Way; _third installment of the _Memoir _series.**

**Disclaimer: I own Nettie? :D ... No? :( Okay. I own NCIS? ... Still no? _Waiii?_**

**Spoilers: General NCIS S3-S9, and spoilers to _Along the Way._**

* * *

**Okay, this story is a little different from _Along the Way _in that it is written from Tony's POV and is a little more introspective than the other story. It's also a tiny bit dirtier :P at least, this chapter is. Also: I will not be able to keep up the crazy updating schedule that I did for the previous story, mostly because real life is starting to catch up, lol. BUT I promise that I will finish this, and will probably be able to get maybe eh ... two chapters out a week, or something. This story will also be a lot shorter than _Along the Way, _so maybe two weeks is all I need, lol.**

**Enjoy!**

**-_Soph_**

* * *

**The Journey**

He'd thought that his nerves would've calmed down by now, but they haven't.

When he wriggles and tries to settle back more comfortably in his seat on the plane, the little voice at the back of his head just reminds him that this is it—this is the flight (or rather, half of the flight) that will take him to see Ziva's Aunt Nettie.

Beside him, Ziva shoots him an amused look. She's used to his fidgeting by now, though, so she doesn't say a word. Instead, she simply reaches over and covers his hand with hers, lightly brushing her thumb over his knuckles. Back and forth, back and forth, again and again. The message is clear: _I got you._

He flips his hand over so that they are palm to palm and slips his fingers in between hers. She squeezes lightly and just lets him hold her hand as she pulls out a magazine—_She still reads GSM?_—and flips through it with great interest. He bites back a laugh and leans over to read the magazine with her. She pretends not to notice, but he knows she does.

She's Ninja Ziva, after all.

xoxo

"Bedtime," she tells him three hours into the flight.

He's still a little too awake to follow her instructions obediently, so he leans over and whispers suggestively into her ear, "There's no bed here for us to spend time on."

She snorts and tweaks his nose rather dismissively. "We have four-and-a-half more hours to the landing, my little furry bear, and if you want to get any sightseeing done around Brussels, then I suggest _sleep._"

He juts out his bottom lip and sits back reluctantly. "I can't sleep."

"You have not even tried."

"I haven't gone to bed this early in thirty years." She opens her mouth, the corners of her lips threatening to turn upwards in a smile, and he waves a finger warningly. "_Don't _say it's because I'm old."

She clamps her mouth shut and tries her best to look composed. Taking a deep breath, she answers, "I was going to ask if you still needed a bedtime story."

"_Ooh, _no. What I need is bedtime companion," he replies, and she slaps her hand to her mouth to prevent her laughter from bubbling out. She pinches his forearm lightly with her other hand, but then snakes her it down to fit comfortably in his.

"Sleep," she repeats gently, and he kisses her forehead and closes his eyes.

xoxo

He awakens after two hours and scowls at the top of her head on his shoulder. _Told you I wasn't used to sleeping this early._

And yet … and yet, seeing her eyelashes flutter as she sleeps, and the way her hand seems so relaxed and trusting in his, he can't help the feeling that wells up in his chest.

An odd feeling, it is.

He can't really say whether it's love. Certainly, he is in love with her; but he's always thought of it as a more or less constant, if not always consistent, thing. But every once in a while, he gets a strange sense of pride and wonderment that makes his mind spin and his breath catch, as if it's just struck him that she's with him.

She's _with _him. She's no longer just his work partner or his best friend, or simply the person who happens to be around him the most. No, she is now the person who has chosen to spend her life with him, hopefully for months, years, and—dramatically—until the end of time. _With him._

He wonders how he got to be so _lucky._

"Tony, go back to sleep," she mutters, shifting her head to a more comfortable spot on his shoulder. "Your staring is waking me up."

He chuckles at her interruption of the introspective moment.

Yeah, she's a ninja, alright. His ninja.

xoxo

The plane lands in the Brussels Airport in Belgium on a layover two-and-a-half hours later. At 06:30 local time—what he supposes would be half past midnight in DC—they make their way to the budget hotel where they have a room booked.

Two people, one room. He bounces down onto the pink patterned comforter that covers the large mattress and gives in to his moment of gleefulness that, at least this time, no one will ask them who took the bed.

She laughs when he pulls her down atop him after she comes back from putting their luggage away.

"_Now _we have a bed," he tells her as he releases her hair from its hair tie. He's always liked her hair down better. The dark brown locks tumble over her shoulders, tickling his face and shrouding them both in a tiny bubble of privacy.

Ziva smiles, her eyes lighting up as she studies him. A slender finger runs along his cheekbone; her hand gently brushes his forehead and runs upwards to mingle with his hair.

"What?" he asks with no small amount of confusion, and her smile widens before she shakes her head and kisses him.

"Nothing."

"Do my highly sculpted features appear particularly good-looking in Europe?"

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, Tony. You cannot be serious for once?"

"You're kinda groping me in a way that makes serious thinking really hard."

"It is obviously not the only thing that is getting hard."

He chuckles and flips her over as she raises her eyebrows in a wordless challenge. _God, does this woman have any idea how hot she is? _"So, three hours and a hotel room," he mentions as lazily as he can while he runs his hand up her top and presses a hot kiss to the side of her neck, just under her ear. "Can you think of anything we could do?"

"Tony?" she asks, sounding a little breathless now.

"Yeah?"

"Shut up and just kiss me."

And so he does, and he makes a vow to himself never to forget just what Ziva David means to him.

xoxo

At 10:00, they step out for some sightseeing. She complains as they walk towards the suburb of Laeken about how they will be tired when they arrive in Tel Aviv eleven hours later; he laughs and asks her how one can trade either sex or sightseeing for sleep. That makes her roll her eyes and snap her mouth shut until he rubs her shoulder and promises to buy her cotton candy to make her smile. She is halfway into an indignant remark about how cotton candy has too much sugar before she realizes that he's pulling her leg, and then her eyes narrow, and they fall back into the pattern of playful squabbling that they both so love and are both so familiar with.

It amazes him how, despite the fact that they'd been partners for almost seven years prior to the (quite literally) life-changing road trip, he knows so little about her. It had never occurred to him to wonder about her bedtime routine, for instance. That is one of the greatest mysteries he has yet to unravel, because he certainly hadn't been short of fantasies that revolved around her in bed. Whether he'd wondered or not, though, he now knows that while Mossad has trained her to do without a lot of things, she really likes tobrush her hair before bed if she is at home and has the time; and she likes it even better if he is patient enough to brush it for her.

He's learnt about how tidying up when she's in a lazy mood simply means stuffing everything out of sight (under the bed, behind curtains, and twice, into the oven). The first time he'd seen that happening, he had almost fallen out of his chair in laughter. When he'd recovered enough to ask her if she wasn't afraid of being unable to find her things, she'd answered in the negative and elaborated that she always remembered where she put her messes. He'd thought that the explanation would have been a lie for anyone other than her.

He's discovered that it makes her blush when he puts his arm around her waist. He hasn't yet figured out why that happens or if it happens to her with anyone else, but he has figured out how to use it to his advantage when Gibbs isn't looking. So he does that now, and her cheeks turn a lovely shade of rose as she shakes her head in amusement and never utters the retort about to leave her mouth. She knows he does it to win their harmless little debates and lets him because she doesn't mind all that much. Instead, she just leans into him and warns him not to try that in the middle of an actual argument. He kisses the top of her head and whispers to her that he's figured _that_ out, already.

They take a tour around Mini-Europe in Brussels. The miniature park with 350 scale models of famous buildings around Europe is magnificent; while she enjoys the miniatures for their aesthetic value, he feels like running wild in the park because he has simply never had the opportunity to see these buildings before. His arm at her waist keeps him anchored to her, however, and he does nothing more undignified than grin like a fool when the chimes of the mini-Big Ben float to their ears.

A plus side of being far away from the rest of the team, he has learnt, is that she allows him _slightly _more touching in public than she otherwise would. He thinks that fact doesn't surprise him as much as the fact that he likes keeping her by his side in public, though.

His arm stays on her waist as they tour the Belgian Comic Strip Centre. He tells her about his comic-book-filled childhood—which he promises to obstinately deny in McGee's presence—and how the cartoons might've kept him from sinking into depression during his early teenage years; she listens with sympathy and understanding that almost makes him feel guilty. Every single word he says is true, but even so … perhaps despite so, he cannot fathom how she could care about him so much. He gives silent thanks that she is willing to take him on for all the trouble that he is. But then she tilts her head as if she might know what he's thinking about, shocks him by planting a fierce kiss right on his lips, and tells him that she thinks Europe _does _bring out his "highly sculpted features," after all.

They go back to the hotel for a little more than an hour's rest. He finally decides to take a nap and feels decidedly grumpy when she wakes him up after what feels like five minutes; she pats his cheek with an 'I told you so' expression, pulls out their luggage bags, and makes him get up, anyway.

At 16:50, they depart for the airport.

xoxo

They land in Tel Aviv at 00:20, which he calculates to be early evening in DC. She hails a cab after they pass through customs and collect their luggage, and they head to the hotel they have booked for the night.

He pauses to stare around the lobby as they enter the tall building. "Wow," he remarks, taking in the white walls and shiny marble floors that are in stark contrast to the vibrant green, red, and yellow carpets and couches. "Nice!"

She chuckles and leads them towards the check-in counter. "Impressed, Tony?"

"Very. I don't suppose your Aunt Nettie's place is like this?"

"She lives in an apartment, Tony, and it is not big. Be good."

He frowns, startled by her insinuation that he might insult her aunt. "Wait, you don't think I'll be good?" he asks, but Ziva has already turned to the undoubtedly multilingual staff and started speaking in rapid-fire Hebrew.

xoxo

Her words make his skin itch all the way from the lobby up to their room, and the beautiful wooden furniture is lost on him as they once again stow their bags away into the wardrobe.

"Seriously, you don't think I'll be nice to your aunt?" He doesn't know why her words bother him so much, and he is aware that—as her surprised expression would indicate—he is overreacting a slight bit. Still, he has to know.

"Tony, I was joking."

He lets out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "So, you don't think I'll be mean?"

Her face lights up with a warm smile as she moves forward and takes up his hands in hers. "I think you will charm her pants off, like you do with every woman. But I also think that you will be the person I know you to be. Sincere. Warm. Lovable."

"Not mean?"

"Not mean," she confirms, and kisses him. "Don't worry, Tony. I am not thinking that you will screw up; or else, I would not introduce you to Aunt Nettie. I am actually thinking that you are someone I would be proud to show off."

"Really?" he asks doubtfully, even though he oddly glad to hear her words.

"Yes. You are a capable agent, and a very good best friend and partner. Not to mention a _very _good lover in bed," she adds, tongue in cheek, and he has to give her credit for making him chortle, "although I won't tell Aunt Nettie that. But, yes. I would gladly show you off to my _doda._"

He fervently hopes his smile doesn't look as shy as he suddenly feels. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Now we need to go to bed." She holds up her finger to stall him as he opens his mouth. "No dirty jokes. I think I have reached my limit for today, Tony."

"Okay," he replies sheepishly. "Can I brush your hair?"

Her musical laughter tinkles through the air. "Yes, I think we have time. I will fetch you my brush after my shower."

She does accordingly, and so the night ends with her settled onto one edge of the bed and him sitting cross-legged behind her and running the brush through her smooth strands, over and over again, until they both grow sleepy.

* * *

**A/N:**

**16:50 is 4.50PM. The standard time zone for Brussels (which I'm made to understand is in common with most of the rest of Europe) is GMT+1; the standard time zone for Tel Aviv is GMT+2. The Daylight Saving Time for both is +1 hour. This means that at any time of the year, Brussels is six hours ahead of Washington, DC, while Tel Aviv is seven hours ahead.**

**_Doda _means "aunt" in Hebrew.  
**

_**Mini-Europe **_**is a park in Brussels, Belgium, full of interactive attractions and miniatures of buildings from all over Europe, including Big Ben, the Grand-Place in Brussels, the leaning Tower of Pisa, the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela, and Mount Vesuvius. Website: www(dot)minieurope(dot)com(slash)en**

**The **_**Belgian Comic Strip Centre **_**is a museum housing permanent and temporary exhibitions on comic strips and their history as well as the artists who draw them. The aim of the Centre is to promote the comic strip as a valuable cultural medium and to maintain the architectural masterpiece (the Warcquez warehouse designed by famous architect Victor Horta in 1906) which it is housed in. Website: www(dot)comicscenter(dot)net(slash)en/home**

**Thank you for reading; please leave a review on your way out!**

**Love,**

**-_Soph_**


	2. The First Meeting

**Okay, I feel like I should add a disclaimer to this: I am not Israeli, am not extremely closely acquainted with anyone Israeli, have never been (and will never be able to go) to Israel, and did not learn about Israel in school. Haha. This means that I _may _make mistakes with regards to Israeli culture and people: If I do, I sincerely beg your pardon and your guidance. That said, I tried my best with researching and trying to get things accurate, so please ... some leeway? :D  
**

**Also: I am not trying to illustrate Aunt Nettie as the average Israeli, haha. Like every person, Aunt Nettie has her own story, quirks, and faults.**

**I'm done. Enjoy!**

**-_Soph_**

* * *

**The First Meeting**

Monday morning, their first day in Tel Aviv and the second day of the work week in Israel, begins at 08:57 for him.

He cracks his eyes open and then shuts them tightly against the strip of blinding sun coming in through the tiny gap in the curtains; the feeling of a hand massaging the top of his head tells him that she is alert and wide awake beside him.

"_Boker tov,_" she says, her voice quiet and matching the hush of the room.

"You know I don't speak Hebrew, right?" he mumbles, turning onto his side so that he can he can hug what turns out to be her thigh—she's sitting propped up against the headboard.

She laughs. "I said 'Good morning.' Surely even you can figure that out in your sleepiness, Tony."

"For all I know, you could've been saying, 'Sloth, get up already.'"

"That would require a lot more words. And I do not think I would have said that using this tone."

"Ever heard of insults with a smile? Not that I saw whether you were smiling, though." He yawns. "What time is it?"

"9AM."

"What time did you get up?"

"Seven-thirty."

"Can I lie here until the sun sets?"

"No. Aunt Nettie is expecting us for lunch at twelve-thirty."

He groans. "That's … that's…"

"Three-and-a-half hours away."

"Too soon," he mutters.

"What is the matter, Tony?" she asks, and even his sleep-dazed mind can hear the worry in her voice. "You're not regretting coming, are you?"

He frowns and lets go of her leg, struggling into a sitting position so that he can wrap his arm around her and tuck her head firmly against his shoulder. "No, of course not. But I am kinda freaking out at the thought that … the … are we sure Aunt Nettie isn't busy at noon? _Or _for the rest of week?"

"She will be occupied. Cooking for us. Hosting us."

"Hmm. Isn't she too old to do all of that?"

"She's only sixty-seven. How old did you think she was?"

He opens his mouth to mention Aunt Nettie's formerly eighty-six-year-old Mah-jong partner, but then decides not to shoot himself in the foot. Ziva lifts her head from his shoulder and narrows her eyes at him.

"He lied to her about his age," she answers sternly. "And apparently he looks very young."

"Oh. Okay."

"You are not allowed to ask her about him."

"Understood."

She gives him a curt nod, and then her face softens, and she pats his chest gently. "But I still stand by my words yesterday that I would be proud to show you off."

"Even though I almost asked Aunt Nettie about her eighty-six-year-old Mah-jong partner?"

She makes a noise that may've been a laugh. "Despite that. I do not want you to doubt it for a moment, Tony."

"Okay." He tugs her closer, and she curls up her legs, resting them against him. "Thanks, Zi."

"Mmm."

"What are you reading?" he asks, directing his eyes to the book that he's just noticed is in her hands.

She flips through the pages without thought. "Faulkner."

"That boring guy?"

Her eyes widen with shock. "You are insulting a Nobel Prize recipient, Tony!"

"Yeah, but why don't they have Nobel Prizes for Film and Television, anyway?"

"Oh, of _course _you would wonder that."

"It's a legit question!"

"I don't know. Perhaps because Alfred Nobel did not establish it in his will."

"Such a pity. I could'v—"

"When you are done lamenting that there is no Nobel Prize for Film and Television, shall we go down for breakfast?"

"Yeah, okay," he grumbles reluctantly. "Shoot down a man's fantasy."

She rolls her eyes and presses a firm kiss to his lips. "Go and brush your teeth. Ugh, your breath is awful."

"Then why'd you kiss me?" he challenges, deliberately hovering two inches from her face.

She wrinkles her nose. "I do not know. I was thinking it was because I am fond of you, but now I'm not sure anymore."

That makes him laugh, much to her chagrin. Ignoring her disgusted protests, he pulls her in for another kiss. "Okay, _now _I'll go," he teases, and she shoots him a look that is one-part threatening and three-parts a promise to carry out her threats.

He hears her murmur "idiot" in an irritated tone as he crawls off the bed, and that just makes him all the more amused.

xoxo

"Are you okay?" she checks as they walk down the hallway towards Aunt Nettie's apartment, and he nods tersely.

The good humour he'd felt from earlier in the day has completely dissipated to be replaced with nineteen pounds of luggage and sense of dread. Aunt Nettie had invited them to stay at her place while they were in Tel Aviv, and while Ziva had jumped at the chance to reconnect with her aunt, he only feels as if he's walking into the lion's den. He has no idea what Aunt Nettie is like or if she'd enjoy his company enough to ask him to stay for the entirety of lunch, let alone the week.

He's only done the meet-the-family thing one other time before, with Wendy's parents. He'd not had the teenage-boy experience of going to his barely pubescent girlfriend's home and being scrutinized by the eagle eye of an overprotective dad who had a gun hidden at the back of his closet. He'd not had to wipe his sweaty hands on his jeans—although he feels terribly like doing that now—and hope to pass the test for being decent enough for said teenage girlfriend. No, Wendy and Ziva had been and are both adults, and very obviously so.

Still, people lie when they say true confidence comes with age: When he'd met Wendy's parents, he'd been able to fake just the right amount of swagger and reassure the 'rents with just the right words. Now, more than ten years later, he is meeting a sixty-seven-year-old aunt who most likely doesn'thave a gun hidden at the back of her closet (even if she _is _related to a former Mossad operative), and all he wants to do is curl up in the safest corner he can find and hide there for the rest of the week.

Ziva stops walking in favour of studying him carefully, and when he takes in her concerned brown eyes and beautiful, _so beautiful_ face, it suddenly hits him why he's nervous. He has no idea how much sway Aunt Nettie holds over his partner. He has no idea if saying the wrong thing, doing the wrong thing, or (God forbid) being kicked out of the apartment means a breakup between him and Ziva; he has no idea, even, if Ziva might defend their relationship and end up alienating her aunt. He doesn't want that—she has enough trouble with family members as it is. But he can't figure out why, when he has had so many problems with her father, she would choose himof all people to meet with one of the biggest role models in her life.

He swallows the lump in his throat as she rubs her hand up and down his arm. "I'm ready," he croaks out, and she nods with a smile that he thinks is meant to be calming. It only makes him that much more nervous.

He doesn't know what he'd been expecting with regards to Aunt Nettie, but the woman who answers the door definitely isn't it. Short and with cotton-fluff curly white hair, the dark-eyed sexagenarian with a wrinkled face smiles with unadulterated joy at the niece she has not been seen in more than a decade.

"Ziva!" Aunt Nettie cries, her arms wrapping around Ziva's torso with surprising strength. Even more startling is that his partner returns the embrace with ardour that he has only ever seen used with Abby before.

Before he can process what that all means, though, Aunt Nettie has already released her niece and stepped towards him. "Mr DiNozzo," she says with arms outstretched and a gracious nod of the head, her accent curling around his name. "_Baruch haba. _Welcome to my humble abode."

Two things strike him in that moment: One, that he doesn't know how to address her; two, that he hasn't the _faintest_ inkling how to respond to her. Before he can panic, though, Aunt Nettie's warm smile widens, and she says, "I'm Nettie. Please, come in."

_Nettie. _That solves one issue, then. Taking his best guess with the other, he manages to say—his voice miraculously steady—with a smile, "_Shalom, _Nettie. Thanks for inviting me to your home."

By Aunt Nettie's still-twinkling eyes, he convinces himself that he hasn't committed any cultural faux pas; Ziva, on the other hand, only looks like she's about to burst into laughter as he follows her into the apartment.

Small and white-walled, the apartment is so decorated that Aunt Nettie's eclectic taste is obvious at first glance. While the wooden dining set to his right and the deep red couch set ahead of him are conventional, framed paintings and throw pillows are various in their colours and patterns. He pauses in the entrance to study a plastic wall clock shaped like a zebra.

"You still have the kitten, Aunt Nettie," Ziva calls from the living room, and he wanders forward to join her. He's expecting an actual cat, but she's staring at a painting on the wall between two doorways instead; it is a striped orange tabby wearing what looks like a pink tutu in a field of daffodils.

"Yes, of course," Aunt Nettie replies, chuckling as she comes up to them. "Tabitha's not going anywhere. Unless you want to inherit her? I remember how much you liked her."

Ziva grins. "Maybe in a few decades."

"Count on its being a full half-century. I don't intend on expiring anytime soon." The elderly lady holds out a slender metal key to him. "Mr DiNozzo—"

"Um, call me Tony, please," he says nervously, and Aunt Nettie beams.

"Tony, this is a key to the house, and you and Ziva will be staying in the guest room." He barely has time to blink in surprise before she's already inviting him to follow her and then striding across the living room to throw open another door.

He doesn't know whether he's more relieved or disappointed to find that the guest bedroom is much plainer than the rest of the apartment. A queen-sized bed with magenta covers sits opposite him, oak-veneer bedside tables (one with a white table lamp, one with a delicate vase of light purple flowers) flanking it. To his right is a matching dresser; to his left, a small wardrobe and curtained sliding doors that lead out to the balcony beyond. Tucked into the far left corner are a study table and chair, a painting of a meadow with horses hanging above them.

"It's not much," Aunt Nettie says apologetically beside him, "But the sheets are freshly laundered, and I just washed the curtains. Ziva, the towels are in the wardrobe. The soap and shampoo are on the study table. I will leave you and Tony to settle in while I get lunch ready." She lays a gentle hand on his arm. "It's nice to meet you, Tony."

And then she's gone, the bedroom door closed behind her, and he's left to stunned and stare wide-eyed at his partner. Ziva smiles.

"I felt that way the first time I came to stay overnight, too," she tells him.

"She's really … nice."

"She puts a lot of attention into being a good hostess." Ziva moves to plop down onto the side of the bed nearer to the wall and picks up the vase, sniffing, and running her index finger over, the purple flowers. "Crocuses. Aunt Nettie knows I love them. Every time I came to sleep over, she would have a vase of these on the bedside table."

"Wow."

She looks up in amusement. "I did say she was that, did I not?"

"Well … uh … yeah, I believe you now."

She snorts. "Put your luggage in the wardrobe. I'm going to go see if Aunt Nettie needs my help."

"Wait! What do I do with this key?"

He holds up the key helplessly, and Ziva takes pity on him by retrieving the object and crossing over to the study table to put it in her handbag. "It's in case we want to go out when she's not home, or stay out late into the night."

"Isn't it kinda trusting?"

"Are you untrustworthy, Tony?" she asks, peering at him, and he gapes at her speechlessly. She titters and walks over, pressing a reassuring hand against his chest. "Do not worry; you're doing fine. I realize Aunt Nettie is probably different from what you're used to, but she will grow on you."

"I really like her, y'know, it's just…" He waves his hand vaguely at the room. "Now I don't know what to expect. I mean, if she threw a pillow at me and said, 'Dude, make yourself at home,' it'd make more sense."

"You would honestly like it if she did that?"

He frowns contemplatively. "No, I guess not. But this is so … homey."

"Like you've been saying about me for months."

"You're a different kind of homey. I'm pretty sure Aunt Nettie doesn't stuff her unwashed dishes in the oven."

"Hey!" She smacks his chest lightly. "I have only done that twice, and only because _you _were too lazy to take your turn with dishwashing."

"Don't blame me," he retorts, starting to laugh, and she dissolves into soft giggles, too.

"Okay, fine. I have done it other times before," she admits, taking a deep breath to stop her laughter.

"Ziva, I don't … it's not right, making a sixty-seven-year-old serve us like hotel staff."

She sobers and strokes his chest absent-mindedly. "I don't think Aunt Nettie sees it like that, but okay. How about I talk to her about letting us help with the meals? I think we could do that."

He nods. "Maybe grocery shopping and dishwashing, too. And no stuffing anything into the oven."

"Understood." Her lips twitch. "Relax, Tony. You did good."

"_I almost greeted her with 'Um,'_" he hisses in frustration.

"I noticed. But you did not."

"Are you saying that _improv_ is good?"

"What's that?"

"Improvisation,Ziva. I didn't know what to say so I just made something up!"

She shrugs. "Everyone does it sometimes. You would not be human, Tony, if you did not do it."

He lets go of the breath he suspects he's been holding ever since Ziva rang the doorbell. "Okay."

Her eyes sparkle as she leans up on tiptoe to kiss him. "I think Aunt Nettie likes you."

"Really?"

"She gave you a key to her home," Ziva answers with barely suppressed cheekiness, and he rolls his eyes.

"Ziva…"

She laughs and reaches down to entwine her fingers with his. "Come on. Let's go see if she needs our help."

xoxo

Lunch turns out to be falafels. Aunt Nettie notes them to have been her niece's favourite food when Ziva was a teenager, and looks anxiously at the niece, seeking reassurance that she still eats them; Ziva nods, and Aunt Nettie breaks into a happy smile. And then she promptly turns to him to ask him if there are any dishes he'd like to have while he's here.

He isn't done gaping when Ziva taps her aunt on the shoulder and asks if they could talk for a moment; the two women turn their backs to him as they set about frying the falafel balls, and he is only too happy to help set the table. When Aunt Nettie carries the falafel balls over to the table, she announces to him that they will go grocery shopping the next morning, after her yoga class.

He finds that he is already developing a deep sense of respect for this woman.

* * *

**A/N:**

**This "day" isn't complete; the evening will continue in the next chapter. And yes, that's one of the differences in format between this story and _Along the Way._**

**The work week in Israel is from Sunday-Thursday for most people. "_Baruch_ _haba_"means "welcome" and is used for greeting individual male visitors (as in, when they don't show up in a group). **

**Thank you for reading; please review!**

**-_Soph_**


	3. The Conversation

**Two notes: 1) Aunt Nettie's English is slightly better than Ziva's :P but she doesn't speak as many languages; 2) [... Ah, crap, I forgot. I will let you know if I ever remember it :P]**

**Enjoy; please leave a review on your way out!**

**-_Soph_**

* * *

**The Conversation**

He hears the glass doors leading out from their room slide open, but doesn't turn around; instead, he simply waits for her to wrap her arms around him from behind and press her cheek into his back. She's only ever done that fleetingly and sparingly, but he loves when she does it.

Then she moves to stand beside him on the balcony, her arm brushing his as they gaze out at the horizon. "That is the Mediterranean Sea," she remarks conversationally about the deep blue expanse before them, and he chuckles.

"Yeah, I know. Where's your Aunt Nettie?"

"Gone for yoga class. She has one this evening and one tomorrow morning."

"She keeps busy."

"You have no idea," Ziva returns, laughing. "Yoga on Mondays and Tuesdays, violin class on Tuesday evenings, drama class on Wednesdays, Singing on Thursdays, and Mah-jong on Sunday evenings. She offered to cancel all of it so that she could spend time with us, but I insisted she did not."

"Is she ever lonely?"

Ziva frowns. "I don't think so; she's told me that she's very happy. Why?"

"Just wondering. I gotta admit: She's … impressive. Wouldn't want her to be lonely."

"Are you worried about her?"

"Are you gonna accuse me of growing soft if I say I might be?"

"Actually, I am surprised, since you have only known her for a few hours. But … that is sweet. Thank you, Tony."

"Yup. Didcha have a nice time catching up with her?"

"Oh, yes. We spent all of it talking about you."

"Wait, what?" He spins around in horror to meet her prominently laughing eyes. "You were kidding."

"Yes, I was," she admits, and then squeals as she has to scramble away from his attempts to tickle her. "Tony, don't you dare!"

He laughs and gathers her into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Okay, no tickling. But only if you tell me what you were _really _talking about."

"Some of it was really about you." Her eyes dance. "But we talked more about her daughters, Ophira and Yeshara. Yeshara's a paediatrician; Aunt Nettie was just telling me about an incredible little boy she treated last month."

"Oh, that's cool."

"Yes, it is." She arches an eyebrow at him. "Are you getting bored of hearing me talk about my family?"

"_Nooo!_" he protests, tightening his hold on her. And it's true, because they rarely ever talk about family. "Tell me more. What does Ophira work as?"

"A teacher, like her father used to. Except my uncle taught English, and Ophira teaches History. She is very popular with her students."

"Huh. How do you know all of that when I've never even heard you mention your cousins?"

She shrugs. "Aunt Nettie tells me about them. The truth is, I have not seen my cousins since I left Israel to take up the liaison position at NCIS."

"Oh." He threads his fingers through her hair. "Are we gonna visit them?"

She shakes her head. "They live too far away. Even if we could make the trip … I am too different from them in thinking, you understand. They were always nice to me, but we were not close, and I would not know what to say to them after these seven years."

"Say 'Hi.'"

"And then, what?"

"I don't know." He furrows his brows. "Okay. We'll stick with Aunt Nettie, then."

She hesitates. "Tony … do you think I should visit my father?"

He feels predictable irritation well up in him at her question, but makes himself calm down. He's been expecting the question for weeks, after all. He studies the tense lines on her face. "Do you want to?"

"Can the answer to that both be 'Yes' and 'No'?" she asks, and he wouldn't have heard the waver in her voice if he didn't know her so well.

"That sounds complicated," he tells her carefully.

She sighs and pulls away from him, looking as if she's losing herself to her memories. "Since when is my relationship with my father not complicated?"

"Guess I could understand that." He holds out his hand in a silent request for her to come back to him, and she stares at it for a long moment before exhaling in painful frustration and almost breaking his bones with her grip.

"Is this how it's going to be forever?" she asks, her tone tear-filled and verging on hysterical, and he feels a stab of anger at Eli run through him again.

_Another calming breath. _"Maybe not fifty years down the line. But it'll probably be that for a while."

"I just wish someday I could wake up, and my memories of my father, my thoughts of him, would not _hurt_ anymore."

"I know," he whispers, and he tugs her into his arms once again because he can't bear to see the tears in her eyes any longer. He kisses her hair lightly, once, twice, thrice, until her breathing calms slightly and she returns his hug. "I'm sorry, Ziva."

"Me, too," she mumbles against his shirt as she turns her face into his neck.

xoxo

At close to eleven in the night, Aunt Nettie knocks on their bedroom door.

"Come in," Ziva calls, and the door opens a tiny slit.

"You are both decent, right?"

"_Yes, _Aunt Nettie." His partner rolls her eyes in annoyance as he flushes what he's sure is dark red. "I would not have asked you to come in otherwise."

"I had to check," Aunt Nettie answers defensively as she steps into the room. "Who would know if 'Come in' was just a reflex with both of you."

"I don't think that could ever happen," Ziva says, looking as if she's trying not to smile.

"Better to be safe than sorry." Aunt Nettie glances down at the bed, where they have laid out a backgammon-like board game. "Ah, _shesh besh!_ Nice game."

"Yes. I thought of teaching Tony _Rummikub, _but he cannot understand its rules."

"It has way too many numbers and colours," he mutters defiantly, and Ziva snorts while Aunt Nettie simply blinks at him.

'Well, if you should ever choose to learn it, I could teach you," the white-haired lady offers, and his partner turns away to hide her laughter.

"Um … ah, I'll think about it," he replies with grin.

Aunt Nettie nods. "In the meantime, I am going to bed. _Laila tov, _Zivi," she says, her face softening into a fond smile as she presses a kiss to her niece's forehead. "And goodnight, Tony. Sleep well."

"No calling me that," Ziva warns him as the door closes behind Aunt Nettie, and he flashes at her the most brilliant smile he can muster.

He is most _certainly _going to try out the nickname.

xoxo

He doesn't know what wakes him up early the next morning, before the sun has even risen; but when he opens his eyes, he becomes aware of the artificial white light that is coming in through the crack under the bedroom door.

Aunt Nettie is already awake.

Blearily, he checks the clock on his phone—5:16AM. _What is Aunt Nettie doing up so early, anyway?_

For a moment, he ponders lying there for three hours until Aunt Nettie leaves for yoga class and he can sneak off to the bathroom (which, tragically, doesn't have a door connecting it to the guest room) to make himself well-shaven and presentable, but then decides that it would probably be impolite not to at least greet Aunt Nettie before she left. Besides, Ziva would make him get up.

He spares a glance at the brown-haired Sleeping Beauty next to him before swinging his legs off the bed as quietly as he can. As expected, she stirs and opens her eyes the tiniest bit; he kisses her cheek and whispers to her that he'll just be outside the room. She closes her eyes again and turns her back to him, and he has to resist the urge to brush her hair from her face so that he can kiss her other cheek.

Once dressed and _somewhat _kempt, he finds Aunt Nettie in the kitchen. The elderly lady looks up in surprise from the book—Arabic, he thinks—that she's reading, her cup of tea held frozen halfway to her mouth.

"Tony," she says, and he can't help but to note the resemblance between aunt and niece's manner of speech. "You are up early."

"As are you," he returns, clearing his throat to bring his voice out of its sleep-induced hoarseness. He draws out a chair and settles down opposite Aunt Nettie.

She grimaces. "Old age. I can't sleep for long; I've been getting up at this hour for the past two or three years. Would you like some tea?"

"Yes, please." He would prefer coffee, but it would be rude to ask.

She gets up and bustles around the kitchen. "Did you sleep well? Is Ziva still asleep?"

"Yeah, she's still asleep. And I did sleep well, thanks. It's a very comfy bed."

"We did not have much, but my husband always said we should provide our guests with everything we could."

"That's a good practice."

"Yes, it is. Aharon was admirable that way."

"So, how long were you married?"

"Almost thirty years," Aunt Nettie answers softly, her voice wistful. "Would have been thirty years, had he lived one more year. He was killed in an automobile accident."

"Oh," he answers, suddenly feeling extremely guilty for having brought the topic up. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you." She smiles reassuringly and gives him a cup of hot tea. "Don't worry. Time heals. I will always love my husband, but after thirteen years, talking about his passing becomes a little bit easier. So, how are you and Ziva?"

He blinks at the change in topic and finds that he has to put the cup of tea down. He knows she isn't asking about their wellbeing, but he isn't sure how to answer otherwise. "Ziva … how much has Ziva told you about us?"

"It's hard to say, but my best guess would be 'almost everything.' She leaves out the finer details, of course, but she does tell me about the big fights, and sometimes the romantic gestures."

_Romantic gestures. _He laughs humourlessly. "Y'know, she's … she's incredible."

"I agree."

"And I … I wish I could tell you that I'll take care of her properly, but—look: The most important thing you should know about me is that I'm a screw-up. And I'll likely keep screwing up when it comes to Ziva. But I _promise _that I love her and I would do anything for her, and I'm just … she's Ziva. I love her. Please remember that."

His mouth is dry when he finishes talking, his head spinning. Aunt Nettie just watches him with an indecipherable expression as he frantically runs through his words in his mind, trying to determine if he's said everything he wanted to about Ziva, and finding out that he's said nothing. There are simply no words for their history, for them, for how much he loves her. He could dissect every single moment they've been through and analyse it to bits, but at the end of the day, he still can't explain why she stays by his side and looks at him like she does.

Panicking, he realizes that he has nothing—no reason, no justification, not even a smart-ass remark—that could convince Aunt Nettie that Ziva was not making a mistake by being with him.

He is about to flee from the dining table, shallow breathing and wide eyes and all, to pack his bags and leave, when Aunt Nettie tilts her head and says "I know" with a gentle smile.

"Know what?" he gasps.

"I know you love her. I am not asking you to justify whatever you have with her, Tony. That's none of my business. I just thought, if you _want_ to share, you could tell me about your relationship."

"Oh," he says, and just like that, embarrassment takes over his earlier panic. He _really _isn't cut out for this meet-the-family thing. "Right."

Aunt Nettie chuckles. "Even if I had not known that you love her, I would certainly know by now."

He bites his lip and falls back on the tried-and-true technique of humour-to-save-his-sorry-behind. "Well, I just thought I'd practise before shouting it from the rooftops…"

She laughs. "I don't think Ziva would appreciate that."

"Huh. I always thought public confessions were her thing."

"Oh, you are funny. Ziva said that about you."

"Did she?" He frowns. "Does she talk about me often?"

"Over the past few years, yes."

"Wow." It feels strange, knowing that his partner talks about him frequently with someone else. "What does she say?"

"Oh, that is between me and her. But they're all compliments."

"Well, she doesn't compliment me to my face," he grumbles. Aunt Nettie's eyes widen in surprise.

"She does not?"

"Not as much as you seem to be implying. But—wait, she's been complimenting me at a high frequency for years?"

"Yes," she answers, sounding vaguely confused.

"Why?"

There it is again, the indecipherable look that Ziva's aunt keeps shooting him. In the end, she shrugs and gives him a small smile. "Ziva's awake. Maybe you should ask her."

Sure enough, he turns his head to see the woman in question leaning against a wall and looking, for some reason, very guilty.


	4. The Insight

**LOL, I remember what I'd wanted to say last chapter, now. What I wanted to say was that as of this fic, Tony and Ziva have been together for six months—I know I wrote "five" in the epilogue of _Along the Way, _but everyone should know that the mathematical subjects were my worst subjects in high school.  
**

**Also: I know that in _Along the Way _and this fic, I seem to be putting the blame of the non-existence of their romantic relationship for the past seven years on Tony's shoulders. That's not the case; I know Tony and Ziva are both at fault. But I write it this way because: 1) Tony blames himself for _far more _than Ziva does, even if Ziva has the darker past; 2) Ever since their relationship has come into fruition (in this fic), they've been focusing more on Tony's insecurities, etc.**

**So, now you know :D enjoy!**

**-_Soph_**

* * *

**The Insight**

He manages to wait for breakfast to finish and Aunt Nettie to leave for yoga class before asking Ziva.

He sneaks up behind her as she stands at the sink doing the dishes—even though he knows she's already noticed, especially since he's been in the kitchen the entire time—, kissing her neck and leaning into her.

"So, I hear you talk about me often," he starts, a smirk growing on his face against his will, and she sighs.

"Yes, I do," she answers, and he's more than a little taken aback at her easy admission. "In comparison to how much I talk about the others. Like you weren't expecting that."

"Well, I definitely wasn't expecting it. I didn't even know you talked to Aunt Nettie, remember?" Another kiss to her neck. "What do you say about me?"

"Depends on when you're talking about. I remember a time when my emails about you were filled with … hate."

That chills him. Of all the things she could've said about him, this is the one he'd expected she'd most likely have told Aunt Nettie about, but hearing it straight from her is another matter.

A soapy hand shoots out to steady him as his knees suddenly buckle, and Ziva's apologetic eyes meet his. "It has not been that for a while," she explains softly.

He swallows. "Not since…?"

She sighs again as she returns to scrubbing the dishes furiously. "Aunt Nettie is my emotional outlet. I needed _someone _to talk to … about … things, and Aunt Nettie was safe where you, all of you, weren't. You have to understand that if I tell anyone at NCIS something … it runs the risk of being spread to the others. So, yes. Before I left for the Somalia mission … I sent her a total of two emails about you and Michael Rivkin."

"Huh." He laughs weakly. "I'm surprised Aunt Nettie doesn't hate me."

"She tried to contact me before I left on the Damocles … I did not answer her calls. I believe she tried to visit me a few times, but I was never home. So, we went without contact for months. By the time I was back in DC and able to send her emails again, things had calmed down. She knows you saved me. She knows … she knows I love you for it."

"Y-… you love me for getting you back from Somalia?"

"Not initially. But, eventually … I love you for a lot of reasons, one of them being that. I have loved you for a l-long time."

"'A long time,' like…?" he asks hesitantly, and she sucks in a shuddering breath before responding.

"Six years, on and off," she whispers, her head bowing and her hands stilling.

He freezes, his eyes fixed unseeingly on a spot over her shoulder. _Six years? _He can't fathom that idea … he hadn't even known about it. _She has loved me for six years?_

The tiniest of sniffles brings him out of his shock, and it is only then that he realizes the drop of liquid he had seen hit the kitchen counter had been a tear. He moves beside her, carefully tilting her face upwards so that he can look into her brown orbs. "Ziva," he says, his stunned voice sounding foreign to his ears, "why are you crying?"

She shakes her head vehemently, turning away from him to rinse off the dishes. "It just … makes me feel like a fool, for you to know this. I mean, I know this feeling is new for you, and—when you said you loved me, I didn't question it. I still don't question it. I don't question you. But I … I don't know if maybe because I'd just been hoping to hear it for so long … I did not want to think too much about it. It hurts…"

"I thought you knew," he says numbly.

"Knew what?"

"Knew that I loved you. Maybe, y'know, when I got you back from Somalia, or just … I thought you knew."

She brushes at her cheek impatiently, leaving a trail of suds. "I knew you cared about me; that you preferred to see me alive. I knew you liked to f-flirt with me, but I … I mean, there was Dana, and then my citizenship ceremony, and I don't blame you for following orders, but it seemed like too much effort to … just keep hoping. I had to give you up. I had to give you up, but even then I could not really forget you, and it was just so confusing…"

She turns off the faucet and stares hard at the last plate in her hands, as if unsure what to do with it. In the end, he takes it gently from her hands and sets it in the dish rack, and she furiously wipes away the suds on her cheek before turning to him, looking as if she has recovered her composure.

"I'm sorry, Tony," she says, the hoarseness in her voice the only indication of her previous tears. "I guess finding this out is more than you bargained for. Please, don't feel bad—"

"No." She jerks when he touches her arm, despair flashing across her eyes for an instant before she moves almost helplessly into his embrace, her hands clasped tightly together as if she's not sure where to put them.

His head spins with revelations as she stands so still and so quiet in his arms. He doesn't know what to say. _I have loved you for years, too, _seems so defensive and so inadequate, and certainly not enough to express how sorry he is for having hurt her. He's spent years,those same years that she's apparently been loving him throughout, trying not to touch her too much or tell her even more because he'd thought that she could never want with him the sort of things he'd come to want with her; not after he had cut her so deeply the first time he noticed that she cared. Not after he had rejected her in favour of Jeanne. He can't even explain why he'd finally decided to take the plunge with telling Ziva in the end, after such a long time—maybe it had just become too painful to hold it all back. And yet now here she is, standing in his arms looking like she's just been shattered into a million pieces, telling him that she's loved him for _years_, and….

He clears his throat and asks her, his voice shaky, the only thing he knows how to. "You know I love you now, right?"

She doesn't look up at him, but she does nod. "Yes. I know. Thank you."

He bites back his frustration. "Thank you" definitely isn't the response he's looking for. "Ziva … you know how I always say I'm trying to make up for lost time?"

"Yes…" He knows the exact moment she puts two and two together, because she meets his eyes, uncertainty and confusion and hope warring one another on her face. "Did you really love me when you saved me from Somalia?"

"Yeah," he tells her, stroking her hair, and he knows he's made the right choice when her eyes widen. "Yeah, I did. Throughout then, before then, after then … and I've never stopped loving you since. Look, just this morning I was telling your Aunt Nettie that I'm a screw-u—"

"You're _not _a screw-up," she interrupts, almost automatically.

"I _am, _but my point is that I have cared about you in more than a friendship-y, partner-y way for a long time, Ziva. Maybe not as long as you have me, but … I'm still trying to make up for lost time, and maybe I'll never make up for all of it, but I love you. Right now; in this moment. _I love you. _I'm in love with you, and I just keep falling deeper and deeper each day … I don't regret that. I hope you know."

It takes what feels like a whole minute before she finally takes another shuddering breath and buries her face into his shoulder, her arms coming up around his waist to hug him fiercely. And even as he melts with relief into her frame, his mind continues to spin with its flurry of thoughts. It's never occurred to him that she's loved him for years. He's never thought _not _telling her before that he's in love with her could hurt her so much. He's never even thought that something as simple as telling her the plain truth about his feelings could make her so glad … and yet, it turns out to be the one thing that she's needed all this while.

Her grip on him doesn't loosen, but he can't bring himself to care as he buries his nose into her soft hair and rubs his hand up and down her back. Maybe she just needs to make up for lost time.

xoxo

Grocery shopping is an ordeal in Israel.

That's what he learns on his first shopping trip with Ziva and her aunt. The handbags get checked at the door (even his ninja quietly complies, to his everlasting amazement), he gets elbowed twice as they make their way through what Aunt Nettie keeps calling a "super"—albeit with an accent—, and his partner gets into what almost seems like a yelling match between herself and a vendor. _Although, _he notes, _she's really not much better in the States_. In the end, though, they do escape intact with _sakit nylon_s of groceries, and a _bageleh—_a pretzel, evidently—that Ziva had bought to pacify him (she'd thought he was complaining too much, which he wasn't).

He returns to Aunt Nettie's apartment with his hunger satisfied and his Hebrew vocabulary marginally increased. He helps the womenfolk prepare lunch, although Ziva threatens him with the sharp end of a knife the one time he calls them that. Aunt Nettie only looks on with amusement. Israeli salad, leftover hummus, and a rice dish called _mejadra, _which he learns has Arabic origins, are what they put together.

He has to admit that Israeli dishes are really growing on him.

xoxo

In 1950, the Israeli government unified the cities of Tel Aviv and neighbouring Jaffa to form Tel Aviv-Yafo. Tel Aviv and _Yafo, _as Jaffa is known in Hebrew, are at times as different as day and night. Tel Aviv is a global city with a flourishing high-tech industry and a twenty-four-hour culture; Jaffa, an ancient port city, is famous for its pomegranates and winding side streets.

Ziva tells him all of that as they walk along the Tel Aviv beachfront promenade in the afternoon—_the Tayelet,_ she calls it. For his part, he hasn't the least idea where they are, except that they're heading southwards towards Jaffa. She informs him that they are on the Homat HaYam stretch of the promenade and points out far ahead of them, where the land curves out into the sea; a road follows the curve, and just to the left of the road is a mass of green, dotted with the reds and oranges of fall, sloping upwards into the horizon. Brownish-hued buildings are set into it. She says that it is the HaMidron Garden in Jaffa. He also learns that the tower rising up to stand tall and proud against the sky from the cluster of buildings is the belfry of the Saint Peter Church; and that the Jaffa Port, still in use, is just around the bend.

"Look." She pulls him to a stop by the paved boardwalk and turns him sideways so that he can look out at the sea. The view is eye-catching, with Tel Aviv's greys and whites to his right and Jaffa's browns and greens to his left, and nothing but wave upon wave of blue in between.

"It's gorgeous," he says to her, and he doesn't know why, but the gentle crashing of the waves on the beach makes him slide his fingers in between hers. She gives him a surprised smile.

"It is," she agrees. "And Jaffa's horizon from this distance is breath-taking, especially at night, when the buildings are lit up. When we get closer, you will be able to see _Masjid al-Bahr—_the Sea Mosque. It is the oldest mosque in Jaffa, with a beautiful minaret. Sailors and fisherman used it. And Jaffa has a famous flea market. Are you game for some exploring?"

"Oh, you sound so American."

"What?" She eyes him in confusion, as if startled by his sudden change in subject.

"Am I _game _for some exploring. That sounds so American."

She rolls her eyes. "You can never be satisfied. First, you complain that my English is not good enough; now, you complain that my English is too goo—"

She stops her rant when she realizes that he's chuckling, and her eyes narrow as she bares her teeth in an almost-snarl. "Okay, okay," he says, holding up his hands to placate his fiery little tigress. "I'm game for some exploring. But _only _if you continue to be my History teacher."

For all his ability to remember movies, actors, moments, and characters in classic films from decades back before he was even born, he actually hates History. Sure, the Civil War had personally been his favourite thing to learn, but he'd forgotten the rest as soon as it'd been erased from the blackboard and his homework had been handed in. Still, when—eyes yet narrowed—she reluctantly threads her fingers in between his again and stops looking like she might tear him to bits and pieces, he thinks that he might actually love learning about Jaffa.

After all, there is nothing more meaningful than a little history.

* * *

**A/N:**

**_Super _is pronounced "soo-pear" with a Hebrew accent, lol. It's probably short for "supermarket."  
**

**_Sakit nylons _are plastic bags. And let me tell you, it really messes with your head when those two individual words mean two different things in two different languages that you speak, and when combined, they mean something yet completely different in Hebrew!  
**

**I got the information from: howtobeisraeli(dot)blogspot(dot)com**

**Please review; thank you for reading!**

**-_Soph_**


	5. The Hope

**The Hope**

He deliberately wakes up early the next morning. He honestly has no idea how he does it. Setting the alarm clock had been out of the question, since Ziva almost always woke up _before _him when his alarm clock started to ring; he thinks he might just have been reminding himself very furiously the entire night that he had to get up before she did.

And so, the moment the lights from the living room filter into their bedroom, his eyes snap open. His heart is racing so fast that he gets afraid he might wake her anyway, but she doesn't stir. He crawls off the bed and repeats in her ear his words from yesterday when her eyelids flicker; she must still be sleepy, because she doesn't try to stop him despite the outcome of his previous day's conversation with Aunt Nettie.

Aunt Nettie shows neither surprise nor expectance when he greets her. It's almost a repeat of the day before when she asks him if he wants tea and he says "yes," and they make small talk as she putters around the small kitchen. But then she sets the cup of tea down in front of him and sits opposite him, and he gets down to business.

"Ziva told me something yesterday…"

She waits as he nurses his cup of tea and tries to finish his sentence.

"Um, did you know she's been in love with me for years?"

The elderly woman furrows her eyebrows and gives a small nod. "Yes, I knew."

"Some forewarning would've been good," he mutters with a sigh.

"I did not know that you did not know." She grimaces. "I thought she'd told you, since you have been together for so long. I suppose my communication with Ziva has its failings some of the time."

"No kidding." He regrets his words the moment they leave his mouth, and he drops his face into his hands. _Two days now. _It's definitely too late to get kicked out of the apartment. He lifts his head again. "I'm sorry."

Aunt Nettie's lips twitch. "I believe your boss has a rule. 'Never apologize,' I think Ziva said it was?"

"Yeah, well, I don't think Boss' rules apply when I'm talking to Ziva's aunt." He shakes his head. "Anyway…"

"Do you have something you would like to discuss with me?" she prompts gently when he falls silent. He bites back another sigh.

"Yeah."

"What does it concern?" she continues softly.

"Y'know, Ziva. Just … I feel so guilty. She was crying yesterday. I made her cry. Again."

"Do you make her cry often?"

"No!" he answers harshly, but his anger fizzles out before he can get defensive. He gulps. "Not often, but just too much, as it is. She already has too many problems; she doesn't need me adding to them. I don't understand why she keeps me around … I mean, she's loved me for _six years._ Why? What did I ever do to deserve it?"

"Okay. Let us look at it differently: What did she ever do to deserve you?"

"Are you sure you're her aunt?"

Her expression doesn't change. "Just answer the question if you want, or tell me if you don't, please."

He squirms uncomfortably and decides to answer the question. "Can't look at it that way. I mean, she's Ziva. She's smart and capable, and just … incredibly strong and beautiful. I don't mean that physically, even though she is that. I mean mentally. Emotionally. She could kill three people in two milliseconds, and yet would be the first to dive into a burning building to rescue a kid. How do you ever look at that, at _her, _and tell yourself that _she _deserves _you_? It's always the other way around. I'm always wondering which guy would deserve her, and I'm … I'm not it."

"So, why are you still with her?"

"Are you saying I should break up with her?" he asks, his voice strained. The words feel like sand on his tongue; he feels like choking when his chest clenches painfully.

Aunt Nettie's face softens, and she shakes her head. "No. I am saying that you love her without needing a reason, and clearly respect and admire her. And you are still with her for those reasons. It would hurt you to have to break up with her, I suspect, and if she has been in love with you for years, like she tells me, then it would certainly hurt her. So, why worry about worth or not?"

He breathes out. "Because! Because she deserves the world, and I can't give her that."

"Which man could literally give her the world?"

"It's a saying."

"Oh, yes, I know. But you cannot give her the world, or expect anyone to give it to her, when you do not know what it is that 'the world' is supposed to be."

"Everything. Marriage. Family. A house with a studio for her to practise her ninja moves in. Her every wish. I'd give _everything _just to see that light in her ey—" he freezes mid-spiel, realization crashing onto him like a tidal wave.

He _can_ give Ziva those things. In fact, he's wanted to give her those things all along.

And damnAunt Nettie, she just winks at him. He lowers the hand he hadn't noticed he'd raised to emphasise his points, sucking in a shaky breath. "Oh, that's risky. I mean, I could've _not _wanted to give her those things."

"You could," she agrees. "But Ziva has expressed to me before a general wish to settle down. And if you did not ever want to settle down, then perhaps things would not have worked out, anyway."

"And you would've broken us up."

"_I _would not have broken you up. I would not have gone to Ziva and said that she must leave you because you do not want permanence. But this is your realization and yours alone. You asked me what you ever did to deserve her; I have helped you find the answer. What you wish to do with this answer is up to you."

"So you think … I deserve her because I want to give her everything?"

"I think that you now know how to appreciate her, and regardless of the subjective measure of worth, that is what she needs. That is what we all need as humans, yes?"

He nods. "Just … y'know, those past six years…"

"Do not take the burden of changing what you can no longer change upon yourself. Ziva loved you because _she_ appreciated _you_; that was a choice on her part. Perhaps you think you were worth that appreciation, perhaps you think you were not, but it was her choice. Now, you have to make your choice. Will _you_ continue to appreciate what you already have, or let your perception of worthiness take away what you and she both desire?"

And suddenly, it all makes sense … he knows on what he needs to do. Clearing his throat, he slowly stands on wobbly legs. "If you don't mind, uh…"

Aunt Nettie smiles at him. "Go ahead. But, please tell Ziva that breakfast will be ready in an hour and a half, if she has any wish to get up."

He chuckles awkwardly. "Thanks for the tea. And the talk."

"You are welcome."

If she is disgruntled that the now lukewarm cup of tea hadn't been drunk at all, she doesn't show it the least bit. So, he turns on his heel and, with still-wobbly legs, goes back to his and Ziva's room.

xoxo

She is awake and sitting propped up in bed, a strange expression on her face, when he enters the room; as he nears, he recognizes the look as muted worry.

"Hey, what's wrong?" He climbs onto the bed and tugs her close, putting aside for now the thing that he wants to tell her. Ziva sighs as she presses her face into him; he pulls both of her legs to lie across his lap and waits for her to re-emerge.

"You and Aunt Nettie weren't … arguing, were you?"

_Oh. _"Nah, we weren't arguing. I just got kinda excited a few times. Talking about you," he adds when she stares at him questioningly.

"I thought you might've been talking about me." She hesitates. "It was about yesterday, wasn't it?"

"Well—"

"Tony, you don't have to feel bad about it. _Please,_" she says, pressing a hand over his heart, her eyes beseeching. He blinks, startled by his sudden realization.

"Hey, are you worried about me?"

She averts her eyes and stays silent as he gazes at her, so he taps his hand on her leg twice. "Zi, look at me." When she slowly looks up, he leans down to kiss her. "I'm okay. I talked to Nettie, and I'm okay."

She studies him, chewing on her lip before she finally nods. "Okay."

"Do you worry about me often?"

Again with the staying silent and avoiding his gaze, so he gently tilts her chin up and says, "You don't have to worry about me, y'know."

She sighs. "I know I don't _have _to, but I … don't want you to blame yourself for more than you already do."

"I _did _blame myself for this, but I don't any longer."

A small smile curls the edges of her lips. "What did Aunt Nettie say to you?"

"Nothing much about my guilt, actually. She just helped me find a better emotion to focus on."

"Huh."

He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, breaking her train of thought before she can further contemplate things. "Are you okay?"

She nods absent-mindedly. "Yes. I'm fine."

"No. You're not," he says quietly, and she purses her lips stubbornly.

"I was not fine, but I am now. I just … think I should not have told you."

"Why not?"

"I know you would have wanted to know, but what good could have come of it? My telling you; what good _did _come of it?"

"Do you feel better?" he asks, and she blinks at the seemingly random question. He clarifies, "Do you feel better after telling me?"

She sucks in a deep breath. "On some level, I am relieved that you know. But the past is the past, and it has no place in our current relationship. Not that I am forbidding you to talk about our past if you need to; I just mean that with something like this, I—"

"If it helped you feel better, then I'm glad you told me." He draws her closer.

"I just hope I didn't make you feel worse," she whispers miserably, curling her fingers into the front of his shirt.

"You didn't," he reassures her, kissing the top of her head. "And you don't have to worry about this all the time, you know."

She exhales, but doesn't answer.

He slides down into a semi-prone position, carefully shifting so that Ziva can rest her head on his chest because he's learnt that, for some reason, she likes that. She loops her arm tightly around his waist; he runs his fingers through her hair.

"Promise me you'll tell me when something's bugging you," he tells her.

A pause, and then she brings her hand up to draw little circles on his torso through his clothing. "Even if it could hurt you?" she asks, fake light-heartedness injected into her tone.

"Evenif it could hurt me, yeah. Never mind whether it actually does or not; I'll deal with it."

She drops her hand. "Tony, what I told you yesterday…"

"Was the truth. Thank you for telling me."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. I have you." Her head snaps up in surprise at his words, and he grins teasingly. "Kick-ass ninja, fiery but sweet. I mean, what are you like, bell pepper?"

She snorts with incredulity. "_Bell pepper?_"

"Yeah, well, whatever it is … I'm just lucky I have you. _Promise _me,Ziva."

The moments drag on interminably before, her eyes lowered and her voice so soft he almost doesn't hear, she nods. "Okay. I promise."

"Good girl." He strokes her hair. "And just so you know, the way I feel being with you _does _trump every feeling, good or bad, that I've had."

She scoffs and rests her head back onto his chest. "_Liar,_" she accuses derisively into his shirt, but he doesn't care because he can hear the smile in her voice, anyway.

* * *

**Short chapter :P but here (I've to do this again in the hopes that we'll get more signatures; please bear with me): My friend and I recently started a petition requesting that they go deeper into what happened in Somalia on the show. This is _not _to say we don't love what the writers are doing; it's just a discussion of our opinion. If you agree with this petition, please go to the link and sign. If you do not, please ignore, and thank you for reading the chapter!  
**

**Link: www(dot)ipetitions(dot)com/petition/more-somalia-on-ncis**

**-_Soph_**


	6. The Commitment

**Couple of notes for this one:**

**1) The first two parts are just a walk around part of Tel Aviv, so you can skip them if you want to; but I worked hard to get the facts right, so... (And yes, that was me, trying to guilt you.)**

**2) Rothschild Boulevard is not the only street on which there are Bauhaus buildings (you'll see why I chose to be that random later). Along with Bialik and Dizengoff, the Bauhaus buildings on these street form the White City of Tel Aviv, which would be the official name for the heritage site as declared by UNESCO. Bauhaus buildings, by the way, are the product of the modern architecture movement in Europe in the 1920s. The focus of this movement is on the functionality rather than aesthetics of the buildings, simplicity, and asymmetrical composition.**

**3) As as reminder, in _Along the Way, _we learn that Aunt Nettie used Tony's technique to scare away her eighty-six-year-old Mah-jong partner: She had one of her friends pretend to be an angry husband and call the Mah-jong partner.**

**Enjoy!**

**-_Soph_**

* * *

**The Commitment**

In 1909, on the sand dunes north of Jaffa, the neighbourhood of Ahuzat Bayit was formed. Sixty-six families gathered and drew lots for the fair allocation of land in what they planned to build up as a European-style garden suburb; sixty-six white and sixty-six grey seashells paired up determined which families got which plot of land. _Ahuzat Bayit, _literally translated as "Homestead," was later renamed _Tel Aviv, _or "Hill of Spring."

He finds that he likes the latter name better.

Ziva takes him through the Heart of Tel Aviv, one of the city's oldest areas, after breakfast. The graffiti and buildings with peeling paint are indicative of neighbourhoods which have lived through decades, and are picturesque in a way that only someone used to wide boulevards and well-kept places can find it; he likes the occasional small shops with everything from mops and buckets to refrigerated drinks and ice-cream displayed outside them for sale, and the way the trees and hedges in the tiny gardens of two-storey houses spill haphazardly over the walls.

They are in a neighbourhood called Shabazi, she tells him. They'd started out from Neve Tsedek, where Aunt Nettie lived, and intended to visit _Shuk Ha'Carmel_—the Carmel Market; for reasons known only to her alone, she'd taken him on a detour a little west of the direction they had been heading in. Not that he minds.

Twenty minutes later (after she informs him that they've taken twice as long because he keeps stopping to take pictures) they arrive at the Carmel Market, which he discovers to be a single alley lined on both sides with stalls of wooden supports and tin roofs. The wide alley is loud and colourful throughout; everything from food to clothing is marketed at the top of the vendors' lungs.

Hearing the yelling makes him much less eager to step into the marketplace, but she pushes him in. Her first order of business is apparently to buy them—and the currently absent Aunt Nettie—Turkish _borekas. _He looks at her questioningly; breakfast was less than an hour ago, after all. She shrugs and explains that the puff pastry with pickles, tomatoes, and hard-boiled egg is delicious, and then shoves one at him, commanding him to eat it "_slowwwly._"

She knows him well—he's easily pacified with food. In the hour and a half that they spend there, he doesn't complain once.

xoxo

The next place they visit is _Sderot Rothschild—_the Rothschild Boulevard. The almost two-mile landscaped boulevard is home to rows of Bauhaus buildings, constructed from the 1930s to 1950s, on either side; Ziva tells him that the buildings were proclaimed a UNESCO World Cultural Heritage Site in 2003. He stares at her and asks _how the hell, _alongside learning ninja skills and foreign languages, she had managed to retain all this information about Tel Aviv. She shrugs and answers that Aunt Nettie, ever the proud Tel Avivi, had simply made sure that she did.

The walk down Rothschild Boulevard takes three hours. Ziva serves as his guide as they traipse along the tree-lined boulevard, grateful for the shade and a coffee kiosk mid-way where they stop for refreshments. On that walking tour, he is infinitely thankful to find out that his girlfriend is _not _an all-knowing, living encyclopaedia—that she has to refer to a route guide for explanations of the organic and minimalist structures rising above them in shades of white and pastel. It would hurt a man's ego a little bit to find out that his romantic partner is so much more superior to him, after all.

xoxo

They meet Aunt Nettie for lunch in a little sushi bar four blocks from where Rothschild Boulevard ends.

"So," Aunt Nettie says as greeting while they sit themselves at a table outside the establishment. "How is the sightseeing?"

"I'm not sure Tony enjoyed the Carmel Market much," Ziva supplies, and he spares himself from answering by gratefully accepting the menu a waitress hands him, "it's too loud for him. But he seemed to like the Bauhaus buildings."

"Carmel Market wasn't so bad. And the buildings are … nice and square," he answers, and Ziva raises her eyebrows while her aunt shoots him a look full of amusement.

"You were not listening to _anything _I was reading from the route guide, were you?"

"I was! They were built by Europeans who came here as … uh … y'know, I was listening. I was just distracted, 'cause they're really cool buildings." Ziva snorts. "Ooh! Nettie, we got you a _boreka._"

He holds up the bag of food and passes it over the table to Ziva's aunt, who accepts it with much graciousness and happiness. From the corner of his eye, he sees his partner's grin widen; as he sits back in his chair, she leans over and whispers into his ear, "You do not even know how many _shekels _it was."

"Hey, give me a break!" he whispers back. "I made your aunt smile."

Ziva chuckles and taps his menu. "I am excusing you only because you planned us a road trip. Order something filling; we're not having dinner until Aunt Nettie comes back from drama class."

xoxo

"Tony, I never thanked you for that creative trick with Andrei," Aunt Nettie brings up over lunch, and he stares at her distractedly.

"Andrei?"

The elderly lady grins. "My Mah-jong partner. Well, former Mah-jong partner." She grimaces. "It seems he refuses to be seen as someone who could break up a marriage, and so has not stayed in contact with me since the phone call my friend paid him."

He gapes at her; next to him, probably remembering how she'd told him not to bring the topic up, Ziva makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like laughter. He opens and shuts his mouth, frantically trying to think of something to say. "Um … you're welcome."

"I have another partner now, also Russian. And _only _for Mah-jong," Aunt Nettie tells him sternly.

"Um … that's nice."

"Very handsome, though," the older lady adds dreamily, and Ziva gives up pretence of trying not to laugh. "What is so funny, Zivi? Yuri is very charming."

"I'm sure he is, _doda._ But you are making fun of Tony, are you not?"

Aunt Nettie chuckles. "It is payback for when he decided to tell me you were married, and then proceeded to threaten to—ah, what was it? Rip my intestines out and drive them over my head?"

Both women look at him. "Yes," Ziva answers, and he sees her tap a spot on her thigh where he's ninety per cent sure she has a knife hidden. "Although, I remember telling him that I would kill him if he contacted you again."

"Ah, don't do that," Aunt Nettie advises her. "Look at him: He's so cute. It would be a shame to waste that face."

Ziva smirks and turns back to her aunt. "Okay, he lives. For now. Anyway, how is charming Yuri?"

He breathes out a sigh of relief only when Aunt Nettie obligingly starts updating her niece on the Charming Yuri.

xoxo

He only remembers what he'd intended to tell Ziva after they return from the city.

Their last stop of the day had been the Ben-Gurion House, where he'd learnt about the life and career of David Ben-Gurion, Israel's first prime minister; after that, he, Ziva, and Aunt Nettie had taken the slow walk home.

The two women are now alone in the living room, and as he listens to their sporadic bursts of laughter drift into the guest bedroom, it becomes clear to him why Ziva doesn't eavesdrop on him and Nettie. He'd wondered why she hadn't earlier in the morning—obviously, she wouldn't have been that worried if she had. But as the muted laughter of the ladies filters through the walls, he figures it out. There is almost something appalling about listening in on Aunt Nettie's conversations. While neither of them would have such qualms (or so McGee would say) about listening in on the younger, less old-person-like Gibbs, eavesdropping on Aunt Nettie would just feel like a violation of the sixty-seven-year-old's privacy.

And so, he is left to lie alone on the bed and dwell on the possibility of their discussing him.

Ziva makes her appearance after an hour, surprise coming over her face when she discovers him to be doing absolutely nothing. True to form, she asks what must be the most practical question she can think of, "Would you like to borrow one of my books to read?"

He shakes his head and indicates the living room. "Are you going out again?"

She closes the door, bouncing down onto the bed and inching closer to him, but leaning up on one elbow so that she can look at him. "No. But you must be bored."

"Pshh. Bored, staring at the ceiling? Nah, it has the most interesting … moulding."

She giggles. "The ceiling doesn't have moulding."

"Are you sure? Look again."

"Of course I'm sure. I have looked at this ceiling many times," she answers, frowning, but tilts her head upwards to look anyway. He takes the opportunity to lift his head, and a noise halfway between laughter and a surprised squeak leaves her throat when she turns back to find that he has captured her lips with his.

A deep blush colours her cheeks when they break apart. She parts her lips, most probably to ask what the kiss was for, but he speaks up before she can. "I've something to tell you." She closes her mouth and nods, giving him the floor to speak. "But before I do, I want you to know that it's no pressure … I'm just letting you know. And you don't have to reply or anything … okay?"

A little furrow appears in between her eyebrows, but she only nods silently again. He inhales deeply and continues, "What I want to tell you is—um … that I want to marry you. And I'm not just talking hypothetical 'maybes' and 'what ifs' anymore. I mean, I'm _definitely _going to ask you to marry me someday. In a year or two, when you're ready. And obviously I hope you'll say 'yes,' but … y'know, we'll talk about that later. I just wanted you to know now."

He watches as the blood in her face drains as rapidly as her eyes begin to fill, and to his horror, her chin starts to tremble and she turns away sharply. Helplessly, he scrambles into a half-sitting position and tugs on her arm; to his absolute relief, she slides into his embrace, allowing him to hold her as she hides her face in her hands.

He rubs her back, itching to ask her what's wrong. His mouth opens and shuts a few times, wanting to apologize, wanting to ask her if he's done something wrong—but he can't. Not this time. This time, he'd simply told her the truth, and more sincerely so than most other times. This time … he'd simply wanted her to know that he loved her.

In the end, he opens his mouth to apologize for telling her too soon, the _idiot _that he is. "Zi, I—"

She shakes her head, and he falls quiet. "No, not you," she whispers, so softly that he prays to every Higher Power up there that he's misheard her.

"Not … me?" he asks, and his voice must sound as terrified to her as it does to him because she lifts her face and rubs a hand over his chest.

"I mean that it's not you who made me … who made me cry." He brushes the remnants a tear from her eyelashes, wanting to be reassuring even though he is farfrom reassured.

"What just happened?"

She blinks as she thinks about how to answer him. "Do you really want to know?"

"Yeah, of course I do."

"It might upset you."

"Zi, I just told you this morning that I didn't mind."

She nods and sniffles once. "I-it's … Ray."

Coldness. That's what he feels seeping into his chest, and he really, _really _regrets saying that she should tell him about anything that bugs her.

He hears her painful gasp and looks down to realize that he's inadvertently tightened his hold on her; biting back his irritation, he loosens his grip and forces his uncooperative voice to work. "You still want to marry him?"

It comes out a lot rougher and angrier than he'd expected, but there's nothing he can do about that now.

She shakes her head and twists her fingers together. "He gave me an empty ring box."

He screws up his face disdainfully. "Last time I checked, it was full of a big rock stuck onto a ring."

"No, not then." More finger-twisting. "Before he left on his … assignment, that's what he gave me. An empty ring box."

He gapes at her, amazement rippling through the anger. "He gave you an empty ring box? Seriously?"

She nods mechanically. "He said it was a promise to talk when he got back. And then he left. And the rest of the story…" she says, swallowing painfully, "is open for public scrutiny … and we know how it ended."

"Oh my god, Ziva," he breathes out, his shoulders sagging because it all makes sense now, but everything is all the more painful because it does.

"Tony." She touches his arm lightly to get his attention. He meets her eyes, not entirely sure if she knows how pale she is right now. "I was not trying to compare you to Ray … I mean, I was caught off-guard, and I…"

He shushes her and gently presses her head back down onto his shoulder, stroking her hair. "Knee-jerk reaction, I know."

"I'm … sorry," she mumbles into his neck.

"Nah, it's fine. I get it." She lifts her head to look at him once more, and he pushes her hair back from her face, rubbing his thumb along her cheekbone. "But it's different, you know."

"Yes?"

"I'm not handing you an empty box and telling you to wait for me because I'm bringing you a _real treat _when I'm in the mood. I'm saying … that I'm ready. Now. You could drop me off at Tel Aviv's most expensive jewellery store today and I'd max out my credit card buying you the biggest rock there is for you to parade around on your finger…" She smiles ruefully at the joke. "Or I could wait until you stop believing every marriage proposal is a lie."

She hesitates, and he hears the words she doesn't dare to say out loud. So he leans his forehead on hers, kissing her lips. "And no," he continues, "I'm not saying that I think you don't trust me. I'm saying it's _possible _you aren't ready yet, but that I'll wait. Hell, I could just spend the rest of my life trying to convince you, since I want to marry you, anyway … but I'm telling you this now so that you know where I stand."

She reaches out tentatively, brushing his jaw with fingers that are ice cold. "You really want to marry me?"

Another kiss before he pulls back and smiles at her. "Yeah, I really do."

She licks her lips. "Even if … even if I would hesitate if you were to ask me now?"

"Yeah. But you will stop hesitating one day."

"How do you know?"

"I don't know what your answer will be." She opens her mouth, but he lightly presses his fingers to her lips. "But I do know that you will not hesitate when you either say 'no'—though I pray not that—or 'yes.' At least, not about _Ray._ Because eventually, it hurts less. Other emotions simply take over."

He removes his fingers, and she swallows, nodding. "Okay."

He reaches out and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. "Okay."

She meets his eyes, anxious but hopeful. "But I love you."

"I know, ninja. I love you, too."


	7. The Deciding

**Two notes: 1) This is mostly Tony/Nettie, except for the very end; 2) Tony and Aunt Nettie talk about Eli, and it's NOT an Eli Bash Fest, so if you hate Eli with a passion, please skip through to the second section XD all you need to know is that Ziva went to visit Eli and Tony got all worried, and Aunt Nettie tried to talk him through his worries.**

**Also: I'm sorry for the late replies to all the lovely reviews you all sent, both for this fic and for my recent one-shots :D I've been a bit busy lately, what with family issues and packing to go to the UK next Thursday for three months, and between that and finishing this story I've been rather short of time LOL. This is the second to last chapter, btw. I cheat a bit with the timeline in the next chapter, but hopefully, y'all won't mind!**

**That said, I've finished writing this story. So, let the review-replying commence ... in between packing sessions :P**

**Enjoy!**

**-_Soph_**

* * *

**The Deciding**

Ziva goes to see Eli the next day.

She sets out once breakfast is over, after letting him kiss her three times—once for luck, twice more for insurance, and the fourth and fifth time avoided only because Aunt Nettie starts laughing at them and _he _starts blushing—and bidding her aunt goodbye.

He gets to helping Nettie with the dishes and doesn't tell the woman that all the kisses are only because he's not entirely sure how Ziva will be when he sees her again. Ziva may love her father, but Eli certainly doesn't seem short of animosity towards her, and he doesn't trust Eli enough to believe that his partner would not be flying home heartbroken for yet another time.

"She will be fine," Aunt Nettie says quietly, a reassuring voice at his side.

"You don't know that."

"Eli will not harm her."

"You don't know that either."

"You are right; I don't know that for sure. But I believe it."

"How can you? I mean, you must know what happened in…"

"Somalia, on the Horn of Africa?" she continues gently when he falters. "Yes, I do know."

"Then how can you believe she'll be fine?"

"Because she is no longer Mossad. Eli will not send her on any more assignments."

He scoffs. "I wouldn't put it past him."

"No, she is a security risk now," Aunt Nettie answers sadly. "He will not send her on any more assignments."

"That's the reason?" he asks incredulously.

"Yes. It may be cold, but Eli is … unemotional."

"You mean, he has no emotions."

"He has emotions; he just does not share them."

He dries the last of the plates and puts in on the draining rack, and he and Aunt Nettie step into the living room together. "I don't understand it. Ziva's his _daughter._"

"There are some people whose pain in their hearts is so great that they don't know how to reach out to others without hurting those same others as well."

"That sounds like psychological crap."

She takes a large, rectangular piece of cardboard, on which lie what appear to be a half-completed puzzle and many separate puzzle pieces jumbled together, down from the top of a bookshelf and sets it onto the wooden coffee table. "That may be your belief, but I am entitled to mine." She settles slowly and creakily into a cross-legged position on the floor, hands resting on her knees and eyes staring straight at him. He follows suit, albeit thankfully less creakily. "I knew Eli when he and Rivka first started dating."

"What was he like then? Anything like now?"

She tilts her head. "I would not say that he was the most charming man on Earth; he never was. He was polite, but kept to himself. He looked much happier back then, and laughed a lot more. For the most part, I did not take to him because I thought he was too ambitious. But I also did not overly adore my sister, whom, too, I thought ambitious, so I just left them to their business."

"Really? You didn't like Rivka?"

She spreads the unattached puzzle pieces out over an area, indicating for him to help her. He does. "I loved her. But she was … remarkably talented from the day she was born. And for my parents, who were, themselves, remarkably talented people, she was the star of the family. I was the black sheep, you see, because I was neither as pretty as she was, nor as musically inclined. I was not even a student with many achievements. My brothers grew up to become lawyers; she grew up to become a dancer. I grew up to become a teacher."

"Ziva never mentioned you taught."

"I quit when my daughters were born. It was a choice. Aharon would have preferred I did not quit, but I wanted to be home with my young children. I think Ziva doesn't remember this because it all happened years before Rivka was even pregnant with her, and I only told her once before, when she was a teenager."

"Teaching's a cool profession, though."

"To a rare few, yes. But society rarely holds in its eyes the same kind of respect for teaching as it does for law or medicine or the performing arts. Teaching is a middle-income profession, and one that often goes unnoticed … the best teacher could not compete with the best dancer, who would go on to shine onstage, under spotlights, captivating men and women, young and old, alike."

"Is that who Rivka was?"

"Eli would not settle for an ordinary woman," she e answers with a smile as she sorts through the puzzle pieces. "So, yes, that was who Rivka was. Do not get me wrong: She was a beautiful woman who genuinely wanted to be happy. But growing up alongside her—especially when you were seven years older than her, only to be known as 'Rivka's elder sister' to most—was hard. I often felt overshadowed by her."

"That sounds tough."

"It was." Aunt Nettie flips a puzzle piece over, gazing at it with a reminiscent chuckle. "I could hardly believe Aharon still wanted to marry me after meeting my family and seeing how different they were from me. But he told me that every person has his or her own story —stories with their own twists and turns; dark secrets and beautiful moments. Prequels and sequels. He said he wanted to get to learn my story."

"Wow."

"Yes," she answers softly. "Aharon was that."

He deliberates over a puzzle piece. "So Eli's story has its own … twists and turns."

She peers at him. "I believe I was talking about my own story, but yes, it does."

"Any of them involve leaving Ziva in Somalia?"

"Perhaps. Do not get me wrong; this is something I cannot forgive him for. But, for Ziva's sake, I am cordial with him. Because Ziva story has its twists and turns too, and one of them is that she still loves her father for the man who took her to the beach every summer before her mother left him. She still loves her father for the compliments he paid her whenever her knife hit the right target or her gun fired correctly."

"That's messed up."

"Again, perhaps. But tell me, Tony, which parent would not attempt to teach their child the version of their truth? My parents, whose love for music was great, filled the house with classical pieces every day and taught me and my siblings how to dance, even if I hated it as a child. Eli very likely thought he would have failed his duty, had he not taught Ziva to fight."

He sighs and sets the puzzle piece into place. "Yeah, I get it."

Aunt Nettie leans forward and stares at him. "I would not be so hypocritical as to ask you to forgive Eli where I cannot. But please, don't misunderstand why Ziva wants to forgive him. He is her father, above all; he is the man who was in her life the most when she was a child, even if it was not often. He is the man who raised her. And she has the kind of attachment to him that, no matter how justified or unjustified it seems to us, feels justified to her. But she is confused now, being angry where she thinks she should forgive, and forgiving where she thinks she should be angry."

"And you think I shouldn't confuse her further."

"I think she needs to know that you will support her if she makes the decision to keep her father in her life."

He stares at the puzzle before him, eventually dropping his voice to a whisper. "She knows. Hell, I know I need her support, making amends with my dad."

Aunt Nettie nods. "Thank you. Then I am reassured with the knowledge that you will not leave each other to struggle by yourselves."

xoxo

"I made her cry again yesterday," he brings up after six puzzle pieces and fifteen minutes of (surprisingly un-awkward) silence, and Aunt Nettie raises her eyebrows at him. "It was an accident! I didn't know it'd happen."

"What did happen?"

He sighs. "I told Ziva I wanted to marry her. She cried. And they weren't happy tears."

"She was not happy that you wanted to marry her?"

"Honestly, I don't know. Maybe not yet. She thought I was gonna pull a Ray on her."

"'Pull a Ray'?"

"Y'know … secure her person without caring much about her heart. She was afraid I might … make her live her life on my time."

"Oh."

"I mean, I know it was an emotional reaction rather than a rational one. I can't pretend it didn't hurt my ego a little bit. But mostly … I'm just wondering why it has to be so hard for her." He shuts his eyes. "And I hate to admit this, but I _forgot, _damnit. I forgot she's just as messed up as I am; that she has just as many problems. How many times over the past year has she had to struggle with this marriage thing without my knowledge?"

"Perhaps she does not struggle as often as you seem to be thinking."

"Yeah, well, it doesn't matter. I'm her partner in more ways than one, especially now; I'm supposed to _have her back. _This is such a big thing … and I just _missed _it."

"What exactly do you think you missed?"

"This Ray thing." He meets her eyes. "I'm her partner, and I didn't know."

"Tony, you are not expected to know everything about her," Aunt Nettie says patiently.

"I know. And you're gonna tell me I'll never know everything about her, but Ray … Ray's a different story because when I first took her on the road trip around the U. S. … that was what I meant to cheer her up from. Yet somewhere along the way … things changed. She's always had _my _back, y'know? Made sure that I'm okay. How did I fail to make sure she's alright? I mean, all the time we spent together, I could've asked her. I should've asked her. But I didn't. I got _jealous _and possessive and made everything about me."

"Ray would have been hard for you to talk about, I'm guessing."

"That doesn't _matter._ The trip was supposed to be about her."

"Look, no matter what the trip was supposed to be about, relationships are not, or should not be, about one person. Ziva told me that you got together on that trip. If that is true, then the dynamics of your relationship must have changed on that trip. You could not have been talking about Ray forever."

"Yeah, but … how can I expect her to protect me when I can't even protect her heart?"

"You comforted her yesterday, did you not?"

"I comforted her way too late! I mean, she must've been dwelling on this for months; worrying about this for months. An _empty ring box. _How the hell did I miss that?"

"She did not tell you."

"Well, I should've pushed! Prodded. _Whatever _it was that would've gotten her to talk to me."

"And you would have very much been in danger of offending her. What if the ring box had not been there, Tony? What if it had not happened? Would you still have pushed? Hindsight is always 20/20, yes, but only because some things are not to be assumed. You could not just have randomly started asking her if Ray Cruz had given her an empty ring box. You didn't know because she didn't tell you. You couldn't push because you didn't know. It's as simple as that."

He breathes out slowly and runs a hand through his hair. "I just … don't know what to do now. I mean, _god, _I wish I could give her a world of happiness. One where Ray doesn't exist."

"Unfortunately, we can't turn back time even if we want to," she says softly.

"Yeah, don't I know it. I just feel like I haven't been having her back enough, y'know? These past few months, I've been letting her take care of me instead of the other way around. I feel like I failed her."

"No one expects you to be the infallible Knight in Shining Armour all the time."

He shrugs. "I have to try. I mean, what else can I do?"

"Tony, I'm sure that if she has been taking care of you—physically or emotionally—all these months, it's because she thought you needed it. It's not something to be ashamed of or to blame yourself for. It simply _is, _because that's how relationships are. Sometimes you will need more support from her than she, from you; sometimes, it will be the other way around."

"You don't think I failed her?"

Aunt Nettie shakes her head. "No. I think that if you'd failed her, you wouldn't be here right now. The fact that six months into your relationship, she flies you to Tel Aviv to meet me and voluntarily takes you for a look around this old place must mean that you're doing something right."

He chuckles humourlessly, sifting listlessly through the puzzle pieces. "But what do I do now?"

She pauses, and then suggests gently, "Now, you know something new about her. And that's all there is to it. You know what comes next."

"I must decide what to do with that piece of information?" he hazards a guess, and she nods.

"More precisely, you must decide if it is necessary for you to do anything about it. Some things, you have to actively change. Other things, you simply accept and leave to the progression of time."

He narrows his eyes at her. "You're all about the Deciding, aren't you?"

Aunt Nettie lifts her shoulders and drops them. "Eh, there's no fun in muddling through life. It would be like staring at this puzzle and not knowing what to do." She waves frustrated hands at the puzzle on the wooden table. "I've decided that it will not complete itself, so may I have your kind, helping hand, please?"

He smirks at her more-than-obvious attempt to make her point and picks up another piece of the puzzle.

xoxo

"What was Ziva like as a kid?"

Aunt Nettie chortles. "You have been dying to ask that all morning, haven't you?"

"Well, it's not my fault she's been gone for almost two hours. I can't believe she even has that much to talk about with her father." The elderly lady mock-frowns at him. "What? It's a comment, not an insult. I really am surprised."

"To be honest, as am I. But, anyway. She was … not much different from how she is now. Kind. Principled. Independent. She loved her sister very much. She had with Tali many of the problems I had with Rivka, but they were never as serious."

"What kind of problems?"

"Jealousy, mostly. I was very jealous of Rivka. And while Ziva was sometimes unsure of who she was and the kind of abilities she had, she _adored_ Tali."

"That's—"

The front door lock clicks just then, making them both jump; Ziva steps in, a tired look on her face and her handbag over one shoulder. Her eyes widen with surprise when she finds them both sitting on the floor, legs crossed and an almost-completed puzzle in between them.

"You are doing a puzzle," she says, stating the obvious. She closes the door.

"Yeah," he answers, getting up from the floor and hastily going over to kiss her cheek in a bid to hide how relieved he is at her reappearance. Behind him, he hears Aunt Nettie's creaky limbs stand up. "Eli's not coming, is he?"

Ziva shakes her head and leans into him the tiniest bit as Aunt Nettie walks past them into the kitchen; he takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around her as she sighs into his neck. "It wasn't even that bad," she murmurs.

"You seem tired," he murmurs back.

"We got into a fight. I initiated it."

"_You? _Initiate fights?"

She leans her head back and gives him an exasperated smile. "You know very well that I'm capable of doing that."

"Yeah, I do," he admits, and kisses her forehead. "Are you okay?"

She hesitates. "I would like to talk to Aunt Nettie for a moment, if that's okay with you."

He ignores the smallest twinge of jealousy in his heart and nods. "Sure. Go ahead."

She pauses, uncertainty flickering in her eyes, and then stands on tiptoes to kiss his lips. "Thank you."

He smiles and lets her go, and she turns, stepping towards the kitchen where Aunt Nettie already has two cups of hot tea waiting.

He does kind of understand the therapeutic value in talking to Aunt Nettie.


	8. The Closure

**Final chapter up! :D Now I can board my flight with nothing on my conscience, lol.**

**For the first section, one need know one thing: The first fic in this series is actually _Memoir _(for those of you who haven't read it), and in one part of that fic, Ziva finds out that Tony's in the process of writing his memoir (hence, why his bucket list says "finish memoir" and not "write memoir." I may be reading too much into it, but it's more fun that way). _Anywayyy, _Tony writes while he's drunk, lol, so his spelling sucks. Okay.**

**Also: Fluff alert :P like, major fluff alert. I have a toothache! And the last part time-jumps six months to their first anniversary as a couple.**

**Enjoy, please review! And thank you to _everyone _who's stuck around, encouraged, and supported me for so long. I couldn't do this without all of you, so you have my eternal gratitude. **

**-_Sophie x_**

* * *

**The Closure**

He's writing at the desk when she enters their room, and she's silent and sneaky and completely unnoticed by him until she jabs him painfully in the ribs from behind. He jumps, knocking hard on her chin in the process.

"Oh my god, Ziva." He whirls around, torn between rubbing her chin and the top of his head. She winces when he touches her jaw. "Why'd you do that?"

She shrugs. "I wanted to surprise you."

"Okay, let me rephrase: Since when do you do that?"

She opens her mouth and then closes it, shrugging once more before moving around him to look down at his work. "What are you writing?"

"Um." He clears his throat uncomfortably. "Memoir."

"Oh." She pauses, frowning at the papers. "You still write your memoir?"

"I scrapped the old one. This is brand new. Less spelling errors, 'cause I'm sober right now."

She chuckles and meets his eyes. "Can I read it?"

He deliberates for a second, with her eyes earnest and unnervingly trained upon him, and eventually pushes the papers towards her. There's probably nothing in there that she doesn't already know about, anyway. She reads through his writing at a snail's pace—probably just to torture him—and he watches as her eyes flit downwards, left to right, left to right, page after page. Her face is expressionless. He wonders what she's thinking.

Finally, she rearranges them and hands them back to him with a tiny smile. "You're writing about us," she says, and he's startled by the fact that she sounds slightly breathless.

"Yeah…" he answers hesitantly. "I just … y'know, thought I'd want a way to remember this stuff when I grow older. Is that okay?"

Her smile widens a smidge, and she nods. "Yes, it's okay." He breathes out with relief. "You want to remember us?"

His breath catches, and he stares at her dumbly. She is _so _beautiful, with the late morning sun casting gentle rays on her person through the thin white curtains. Chocolate brown hair curling around her shoulders and tumbling over her back, a face made radiant by both youth and wisdom. Pretty red lips, curled into a smile that shines through even in her mesmerizing eyes. _Ethereal, _he decides, _must be the only way to describe her. And I love her._

So yeah,he does want to remember them. He'd want to remember this moment forever if he could, no matter whether they would end up eventually being 'permanent'. But that would've been way too sappy for him to say and her to hear, so he just smiles back, his heart tripping all over itself. "Yeah, I do."

And he thinks she may understand when she leans down to kiss his forehead, her thumb stroking his cheekbone lightly.

xoxo

They go to HaYarkon Park in the North of Tel Aviv for lunch.

He helps Aunt Nettie pack some fruits and sandwiches, while Ziva hunts high and low for a blanket and a picnic basket, and—for reasons unknown to him—a board game to play with.

"_Scrabble, _really?" he asks sarcastically when she emerges victorious, and she raises her chin defiantly before packing it away with the blanket. He rolls his eyes and returns to the onion dip he's making.

He later regrets his sarcasm when it becomes obvious that: A) Ziva kicks his ass at Scrabble, which isn't even fair; and B) Aunt Nettie could probably beat them all in her sleep, which is simply scary. It makes him think that more books and fewer movies would be good for him, after all.

His brain completely revolts at the thought, causing Ziva and Aunt Nettie to have to protest when he tries to put down 'Asgard' as a word in the middle of their second game (Aunt Nettie won the first) in the picnic grove where they've lain out their picnic blanket.

"Okay, it _is _a word," he insists, stubbornly putting his last tile back on the board from where his partner had picked it up and used it to gesture somewhat violently at him.

"It is _not _a word!" Ziva huffs. "What does 'asgard' mean?"

"It's a kingdom."

"What kingdom?"

"Of the … um…" he trails off, and Ziva unfurrows her brow and beams triumphantly at him.

"Not a word. Take it off."

"_Fine,_" he mutters. "What can I even spell with SGARD and these random X and Y tiles anyway?"

"I'm sure you will figure something out," Aunt Nettie speaks up from her spot against the tree, where she's leaning back and fanning herself. "You could switch one of the tiles on your rack for another from the bag."

"Yeah, I think I'll do that," he answers, picking two tiles out of the bag and tossing X and Y back in. He checks the letters of the new tiles. E and O. Much better.

"My turn." The elderly lady stretches forward, gingerly placing her tiles on the board, and his eyes widen with disbelief.

"'_Erotica_'? You have to be kidding me. There's _no way _the letters on your rack spell 'erotic,'" he splutters as Ziva shushes him and steals a glance, her form shaking with laughter, at the nearby family with young children.

"Oh, they spell 'erotica,' but there was already an A on the board," Aunt Nettie replies sweetly, "and there is a way. I just put it down."

"Is the universe on your side or something?" he asks incredulously, and Aunt Nettie chortles.

"About time! I have been sucking up to them for sixty-seven years."

He points a finger at her. "Okay, you really need to teach me how to do that, 'cause I could use some luck."

"I asked them really nicely," Aunt Nettie answers as she digs into the bag for more tiles, and he scowls.

Grumbling under his breath, he helps Ziva turn the board so that she can put down her word. 'Rucksack,' played on the R from 'erotica.' He sighs and stuffs an olive from the picnic basket into his mouth.

He's about to lose in another Scrabble game to two women who don't speak English as their first language.

xoxo

"Eli knows about us," Ziva tells him while they get ready for bed that night, and he stares at her as she chews on her lip nervously, the hair brush she'd been using lowered into her lap.

"Eli knows about us," he repeats slowly, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck start to rise. He'd assumed Eli hadn't known, since Ziva hadn't mentioned anything upon coming back from the visit, and he can't fathom why she chooses to tell him _now, _of all times.

"Yes. And I didn't tell him," she adds quickly, as if afraid he'll accuse her of something. "He guessed."

His heart starts to race, and his mouth goes dry with trepidation. "So what's the verdict?"

She shrugs and puts her brush down onto the table behind her. "He does not care, apparently. He said he just wants us to know that he knows."

"That's not a threat, is it?"

She shakes her head, hair falling over her shoulders. "He sees no reason to stop what we are doing. But I would advise you to stay far away from him, Tony. I do not trust him not to threaten you."

He rolls his eyes, the movement almost painful in his show of faked nonchalance. "You're kidding me. He _wouldn't _give me the Protective Father act."

She lifts her head and gives him a dry smile. "The only one of my boyfriends that _Abba _has completely approved of is Michael Rivkin, and that was only because Michael had been in Mossad. He has never … expressly forbidden me from dating anyone except terrorists, but you and he have a history of … arguing, and I do not want that to have the opportunity of happening again."

The whole summary of Eli's involvement in Ziva's dating life, even if slightly alarming, is so utterly hilarious that he suddenly can't help the avalanche of chuckles which tumble out of his mouth. She blinks at him in bewilderment, only to earn herself more chuckles from him, before he finally manages to finish undressing for bed and go over to her.

"Okay, no approaching Eli," he promises, holding up three fingers on one hand and pulling her off the chair and into his arms with the other. She's soft and warm against him, and he feels relief flood his senses at that.

"What were you laughing about?" she asks, her eyes wide and bemused, and he chuckles again before pressing his lips to hers.

"I think I'm just relieved I'll get to keep you, and there'll be no modern-day version of Romeo and Juliet, Mossad-versus-NCIS style." He smiles gently at her. "Can you imagine the carnage?"

A grin starts to grow on her face. "Do you want to know how he said he knew?"

He eyes her with mock suspicion. "He's not tailing us, is he?"

"No, he stopped tailing me after I left Mossad for NCIS," she answers, and it's his turn to blink at her. He hadn't known anything about Eli tailing her _before _that, and certainly didn't expect his joke to have once been reality. She shakes her head, warning against further discussion, and continues, "He said I look like a 'woman in a romantic relationship,' and that I 'act like Tony DiNozzo' now."

He snorts and pulls her closer. "I guess coming from him, that's a compliment."

"Doubtful," she answers, sticking her tongue out at him, and she makes a face when he tweaks her nose.

"Watch your words, Juliet. Now, it's time for bed."

_And that's it, _he realizes in an exhilarating rush once they're in bed and she's in his arms again. _One less obstacle between us. _It's as if against all odds, they might actually work out, after all.

xoxo

Packing the next day makes him feel as reluctant to leave as he'd felt when the road trip had been about to end. Sure, there's been no countdown this time, and he's much more certain now than he'd been then that he and Ziva will still be a couple when they set foot back in DC, but Aunt Nettie does serve them a spectacular breakfast that makes him wish he could stay in Tel Aviv forever.

But then he remembers how he has to avoid Eli, and how Abby (and of course, Probie; maybe even Gibbs) will miss him, and the urge goes away. He thinks hanging out with Nettie has been fun, though. He tells her that and leaves her a standing invitation to visit DC at any time, or even retire there; she points out with a chuckle that she doesn't have a full-time job to retire from, but thanks him gracefully for his offer. As he straightens up from a gentlemanly kiss to the back of the elderly lady's hand—during which she actually _curtseys _in return—he catches sight of Ziva leaning against a wall, watching them with an expression that might very possibly be pride.

He and Ziva go to the airport alone. Aunt Nettie had wanted to accompany them, but Ziva had insisted that she stay home and rest after having entertained them for so many days. Nettie had relented in the end, giving her niece one last tight hug and a "be safe, Zivi," and then sending them off with a huge smile and a hand that didn't stop waving until they'd turned the corner.

_Yeah,_ he thinks, _Ziva's right: Aunt Nettie is a pretty awesome person._

xoxo

"So, what do you think?" Ziva asks, a questioning smile on her face as they wait to board their flight.

"I liked Nettie," he announces, and his partner's face lights up.

"I think she likes you, too."

"Yeah? Well, I always knew I could charm her," he drawls, earning himself a nudge in the ribs and an amused shake of Ziva's head.

He sobers and slips an arm lightly around her waist; her cheeks turn pink, as usual, and she leans her head against his shoulder. _After so long, _he suddenly realizes with joyful disbelief. _After so long, she still blushes whenever I hold her like that._

And it's not something he can take for granted.

"Hey, Zi?" he whispers into her soft hair. She hums in response. "I love you _very _much."

She lifts her head, her eyes meeting his in more than a little surprise, and he gets it. They may have been saying it more often lately, but rarely without purpose, and even more rarely at random moments like these—while in an airport, waiting for a plane. But these random moments are the kind he would want to remember forever in a memoir, he thinks. So, he gives her his most charming smile and watches as her eyes start to sparkle, and the red on her cheeks turns even darker before she hides her face into his shoulder.

And because he knows to listen for it now, he hears the quiet words against his shirt: "I love you very much, too, Tony."

xoxo

_Almost Six Months Later_

He feels Ziva start to wake up beside him, but he doesn't turn to face her; instead, he waits for her to stretch and then snuggle closer, flinging a leg and an arm over his body, before he smiles at her.

"Happy One-Year Anniversary," he whispers, and he can tell from the slightly startled expression on her face that she hadn't been expecting him to remember that it's been a year since their first day as a romantic couple. He chuckles when a sleepy beam starts to grow on her face.

"I have something for you," she whispers back softly.

"Yeah?"

"Yes. I was planning to surprise you and wait to see how long it took you to remember what today was, but you beat me to it," she answers ruefully, and the corners of his lips curl up into a smile.

"You can't be _complaining._"

"Of course not," she replies with an innocent expression that makes his body shake with laughter.

"Liar. You love holding stuff over my head, like how I 'forgot' our one-year anniversary."

She shrugs indifferently. "I should have leverage."

He shakes his head with a grin and flips her over, pressing his body into hers and nipping her bottom lip. "So, what do I get for remembering?"

She smirks. "I would tell you," she answers, "but your actual surprise is under the bed, and I need you to move so that I can get it."

He dips his head to kiss her mouth. "It can wait."

"I don't want to wait to give you it," she protests breathlessly, pulling away.

He groans and rolls off her. ""Who actually postpones sex for stuff like presents?"

She laughs as she slips off the bed and sticks her head underneath it. "Are presents not important?"

"Yeah, they are, but so is sex…" He narrows his eyes at her when she re-emerges. "Wait, you're not going to say, 'Just for that, I'm not giving you your present,' are you?"

"No," she replies, climbing onto the bed with a wrapped, rectangular box in hand. He sits up and eyes the box sceptically.

"What is it?"

"Open it." She pushes the box towards him. Holding his breath, he undoes the wrapping paper.

And lying before him, looking spectacularly unremarkable, is a glossy cardboard box holding the object of his dreams.

"Oh my god."

"Do you like it?" she asks tentatively, biting her lip, and his face splits into a wide grin as he gingerly lays the box on the bedside table before pulling her into his arms.

"My very own DSLR? Hell, yeah!"

She laughs and kisses him. "Okay, _now _we can get to the sex."

He presses a finger to her lips. "Oh, no, wait. Now that we've gotten the gift-giving rolling, I wanna give you yours first."

"Okay," she answers bemusedly, and he lets her go, shifting to block her view as he reaches into his bedside table drawer.

"I didn't wrap it, but hopefully you won't mind." He takes the box from the drawer and turns back to her, and watches as the expression in her eyes goes from confusion to understanding to shock, and her mouth falls open. He grins nervously. "Here, let me open it for you."

He does, and her hand flies to her mouth as a sob escapes it. "_Yes,_" she gasps out, launching herself forward and almost knocking the ring box out of his hands. "Yes, Tony, I will marry you."

He laughs, his heart swelling with incredible happiness and pride as her hands come around his neck. Her face is all tears and a huge, _huge _smile, and he can barely believe that _she said 'yes.' We're going to get married._

"Wait, wait," he manages to get out as she presses him into the bed, the look in her bright eyes carrying a promise for the present and the future. "I've to put the ring on first."

She stops short, blinking as if she's just remembered the material aspect of the proposal, and starts to giggle before she holds out her hand. Her body rocks with laughter as he slips the ring onto her finger, and when he's done, she buries her face into him, kissing and kissing his neck in between laughs. He rubs her back and waits until she's composed herself before gently rolling them over, leaning into her and pressing his lips to hers like he plans to for years to come.

He doesn't think either of them really misses the fact that she hadn't hesitated for a single beat.


End file.
